


Lilacs and Smoke

by Skitty_the_Great



Series: 30 Day OTP NSFW Challenge [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, F/M, First Time, Megstiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitty_the_Great/pseuds/Skitty_the_Great
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 day OTP NSFW Challenge</p>
<p>Day 3: First Time</p>
<p>Special thanks to Jenn without whom I cannot write</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilacs and Smoke

She’d shown up out of the blue one evening, as she so often did. Castiel felt her the moment she was close. Her presence was like a flare in the dark and he worried, momentarily, if anyone but himself had felt her coming. It was dangerous for her to travel like that. People were following her. Demons were hunting her. He’d assumed she would lay low, now that she was free once more. Yet there she was, that telltale ripple of power drawing his attention so completely that he missed the last half of what Dean was attempting to tell him. Vaguely aware of the question that followed, Castiel barely blinked.

“I have to go.”

With no more warning that that, he was gone in a flutter of wings, seeking out the shadow that he knew would be her.

He found her less than a mile away, in a run down motel off the highway. The bedspread was stained and the carpet was musty. Half finished wards covered almost every surface, warding against angels and demons alike, but the door she’d left unmarked. For him, it would seem. And she was there, sitting on the edge of the bed watching him, as though she’d never doubted he’d come.

“Meg,” he said simply, and acknowledgement of her presence and a question as to its purpose all in one simple word.

“Castiel,” she said in mocking mirror, standing slowly. She looked better than she had the last time he’d seen her. Her wounds had healed as though they’d never been there. Her clothes were new and clean, her hair washed and brushed to silky smoothness. She had yet to change the color however. The blonde tapered into pink at the ragged ends. She wore no shoes, making her seem even smaller than she had been before. He could just barely see the tips of her toes beneath the edge of her jeans, with the nails painted pink, in incongruously feminine touch on her otherwise harsh exterior.

“I felt you arrive.” He looked her over, top to bottom, looking for signs of damage that were less obvious. Anything that might explain why she’d so clearly sought him out. “Drawing attention to yourself is unlike you.”

“Maybe I wanted the attention,” she said with a rye little smirk, moving around him in a slow, almost predatory circle on her way to the door. She flipped the lock, a seemingly useless gesture. Surely anything that would come hunting her would be stopped by the wards?

“Why?”

Two purposeful steps forward and she was pressed against him, one hand circling behind his neck and the other sliding beneath his coat and along his side. They physical memory was almost visceral, but this time she was not attempting to distract him. She did not retreat, weapon in hand, as she had before, that first time, so long ago by human standards but barely a blink of an eye to him. Her hand pressed against his side, sliding around towards his back and her fingers curled in the edges of his hair as she brought him down closer to her. He felt her breath on his lips before she made contact, the softness of her at odds with the sharp edges she always seemed to project.

A soft kiss. A small kiss. There was no wall to spin her against this time. Instead, he herded her backwards against the door, which rattled in its frame as he pressed her to it. His fingers tangled in her hair though he wasn’t even conscious of reaching to touch her, focusing entirely too much on the way her mouth felt against his. The way her lips opened for him, soft and inviting. Her mouth tasted of peppermint and smoke. The kiss broke and he looked down at her from heavy lidded eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, and there was a breathless quality to her voice that he’d never heard before. She pulled him back down to meet her, nearly pulling her body up to press against his and his arms moved around to support her automatically. She was more aggressive, as she dragged them together. Her teeth grazed his lower lip and he drew in a short breath of surprise. Such subtle pain. Her mouth sealed against his and he lost himself in the moment. There were questions he meant to ask her. Things he could probably tell her. The war still raged and the world still needed him, but it would have to wait, at least for this moment.

She was pushing him backwards and it never occurred to him not to let her. Layers dropped off one by one. His coat, and the suit jacket beneath it, hit the floor in a rush of fabric. Her own coat followed, light leather thing that it was, and she broke their kiss to drag the tank top she wore beneath it over her head, but he barely had time to even appreciate the fast expanse of skin now visible in front of him. Meg pushed herself up on her toes, kissing him again, greedily, hungrily, dragging his hands up along the smooth skin of her sides to cup her breasts. The lace was rough beneath his fingers and he traced the swirling patterns with his thumbs.

Pushed back on the bed…rough, unpleasant blanket beneath his fingers…but she was creeping up over him, pushing him further back, hands sliding up over his hips to untuck his shirt. Castiel watched her with wide eyes as she gripped the edges and pulled, the buttons popping off in all directions. And then her hands, warmer than he expected, and traveling up his stomach and over his chest until she was able to kiss him again. He whispered her name against her lips, lost in physical sensations that he’d never felt before though his body sprang readily enough to her touch. 

“Saying my name like that,” she said, her voice husky yet amused, “almost sounds blasphemous. Praying to me, Clarence?”

“Meg,” he said again, barely finding enough breath to push the sound past his lips, and she kissed him again.

Layer after layer, she discarded the barriers between them, until all he could feel was skin against skin and his lungs ached from trying to breath her in. She settled over his body, sitting back against him, and he could feel a heat and wetness that called to something primal in him that he did not understand. Something human that came from his body and not from his mind, but something he had no desire to fight whatever might have been the cause. He looked up at her, his expression one of confused desire…brow furrowed, eyes wide. His hands roamed over her body, never settling. He chased the curves over her smoky soul with his fingertips, curling over her hips, across her stomach, beneath her breasts…

Meg looked down at him, her expression quizzical.

“You have done this before, right?” She arched one brow at him, head tilted to the side as she regarded him.

“I’m aware of how this is done.” He tried not to sound offended. Tried, also, to hide the slight note of panic that had worked its way into his tone.

Meg tsked at him and rolled her hips against him, eliciting a groan that he didn’t seem able to control. “Not what I asked.”

“It’s not usual for me to…” he faltered for words, his mind clouded as he watched her, wanting…he wasn’t even sure what it was. He had no words to shape his desire. “Touch is not something that we usually…” His hands slid over her hips, instinct wanting to bring her hips against him again, but she resisted his efforts. “I do not generally enjoy so much physical contact.”

Meg reached between their bodies, grasping him lightly in her hand. “You don’t?” she asked, with a sly grin. She stroked him lightly, pressing him against her body. “Are you sure?”

Castiel’s head fell back, his hips rising, the better to press against her, but he struggled not to lose sight of her. “I haven’t.” She squeezed ever so slightly and his eyes closed. It was a force of will to open them again, to not lose himself in the physical sensations when there was so much more before him. “Until you…this…” He couldn’t find the words, looking at her helplessly, his face tense with a want he’d never felt before.

“Well that’s almost adorable,” she teased in a slow drawl. “Dont worry, Hot Wings. I’ve never popped an angel’s cherry before either.” 

Before he had a chance to respond, to question, Meg raised her hips just enough… Suddenly he was engulfed in a warmth and a tightness that he could not have expressed in words if he’d tried. She sank slowly onto him, drawing a long, nearly breathless sound from him that he seemed to have no power over whatsoever. He held onto her hips, the physical touch an anchor to his senses…until she began to move.

Afterwards, he would remember small things. He would hear the way the headboard slapped against the wall in rhythmic time to her movements. The way the bed creaked beneath them in counter time. He would remember the feeling of her breasts, soft and filling his palms, hard nubs of her nipples brushing between his fingers. He would remember her saying his name, his real name, her voice rising in pitch the faster the bed squeaked and the headboard banged. And he would remember the moment when all the vastness of the universe condensed to a single point, and his pitiful, human vessel felt larger and more phenomenal than his true form could have ever hoped to mirror. 

Castiel clutched her to his chest as the feeling faded, his body still throbbing within her, her own squeezing him tight, almost in perfect time. There was sweat on their skin, though he did not feel hot. Her hair was in his face, and he breathed deep. It smelled of lilacs. And woodsmoke.


End file.
